


You Bite Your Friend Like Chocolate

by bigbaldbae



Category: The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead RPF
Genre: #LEEDUS, #RICKYL, A condom shrine for all my loves, Condoms, Fluff, Food Play, From friends to lovers, Humor, Indirect confession, M/M, Nope not related at all to Candy Crush, Really lots of condoms, Rickyl Writers' Group, Romance, So fluffy you will want to die, Social Media, Them fangirls are mad ya'll, Triggered by The 1975, What is mpreg?, Where Norman owns Adventure Time merchandise, sugar rush - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 20:38:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8815522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigbaldbae/pseuds/bigbaldbae
Summary: Andrew hates chocolate milk. Norman decides to change that.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TWDObsessive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TWDObsessive/gifts).



> So here you go, my first attempt at a Leedus fic. :)
> 
> I am apologizing beforehand for my portrayal of Andrew on this fic - I tried the British thing and I am not for sure if he or Norman both have a sweet tooth. So sorry for any inaccuracies made at this point. 
> 
> Gifting this to TWDObsessive just because. :) You MUST check out her fics. :)))
> 
> Title came from the lyrics of The 1975 hit "Chocolate." Hope you'll enjoy! :D
> 
> *Changes made in this chapter may imply additional editing.

> " _Oh we'll go where nobody knows, with guns hidden under our petticoats_  
>  _No we're never gunna' quit it, no we're never gunna' quit it no_  
>  _Yeah we're dressed in black from head to toe, we've got guns hidden under our petticoats_  
>  _No we're never gunna' quit it, no we're never gunna' quit it no"_

"Norman. Kindly be a doll and turn that down."

Switching off the iPod he borrowed from Alanna, Norman frowned at Andrew from across the trailer, and saw the younger man currently pawing the contents of his personal refrigerator, a mop of graying brown curls visible behind the appliance door.

“Geez, Clutterbuck. What put your panties up in a bunch?” Norman asked, downing the last of his Maltesers before throwing the cover in the bin. “And I thought _I’m_ the older one.”

“Please. Like you ever acted your own age,” Andrew replied, a trace of snide in his usual English lilt. “Is there any beer or any semblance of alcohol at all in your trailer? Because most of what I see here are cartons of chocolate milk. And you have been nibbling on nothing but chocolate and candy bars the whole morning. Those things are fattening, you know.”

Norman snickered. “Sorry pal. I got too happy at the buffet earlier. Can you hand me one though?”

It was Andrew’s turn to frown then, closing the fridge as he grabbed a carton and threw it towards Norman’s waiting hands. “You thieving bugger. I wouldn’t be surprised if they pushed a syringe on you right now and they see chocolate syrup being aspirated.”

“What? Lots of people like chocolate. There is _nothing_ wrong with chocolate. What’s wrong with  _you_?”

“I really don’t think we have the time or inclination to get into that,” Andrew says noncommittally, crossing his arms. “I did drink a glass once, and decided that I detest it. Maybe someday I will try again.”

“Maybe you just came across a brand that sucked. All chocolate milks are yummy, and they have these endorphins. Perfect for cranky girls in their _periods_.” Norman said defensively, giving Andrew a once-over after stressing the last word.

Cocking an eyebrow, the Brit sauntered past him and ignored his remark to sit on the couch, crossing his legs and relaxing, while Norman punched a straw on the carton and took a long sip, relishing the sweet chocolaty taste of the milk. Norman then hopped beside Andrew, turns and stretches out, and his head dropped on Andrew’s lap. The older man knew that his best friend wouldn’t mind, as they just laze around like this most of the time during breaks, Andrew sitting on the couch with Norman lying beneath him. Sometimes it’s the other way around, but it is usually Norman who would initiate. Norman continued to sip from the carton as he scrolled through weather updates with his iPhone.

“Any improvement on the weather?” Andrew asks from above him.

“Nah. Rain showers and possible thunderstorms overnight,” Norman read, squinting at the screen. “Looks like we’re stuck here.”

Sure enough, the rain continued to patter heavily against the windows and the walls of the trailer, fat droplets visible and angrily hitting against the glass. This was definitely not anticipated, as Georgia practically sweltered 80% of the time. The whole cast was on the Alexandria set that morning, ready to go and all in character, until after Rick’s two lines the rain started to come in, sending everyone running towards the set houses and trailers. Both men quickly made a beeline towards Norman’s trailer, as it was the nearest to the set and safely hidden from the hawkeyed paparazzi and crazy stalkers. Now it was already afternoon, both fresh from the shower and changed into their regular clothes, and still the rain did not stop, the downpour becoming more torrential as the forecast had indicated.

There was a low beep heard, and Norman could see Andrew looking at his own phone too, mouthing off the words from the text message received. Andrew frowned again, then flipped his phone shut and shoved it back in his pocket. “Gregory just texted me what you just said. He’s calling off shooting for now, until the weather clears. Probably tomorrow then.”

“Woohoo. Thank you Nicotero!” Norman chirped, beginning to flip through multiple screens of social media. For someone as anal in filming as Gregory Nicotero, bad weather is an absolute no-no for the man’s aesthetic vision. They have been shooting scenes for three days straight already. Even the Lord above thinks that everyone needed a break, hence the sudden rainstorm. Everyone should be thankful. Everyone except _one_ , that is.

“That’s just great. Damned rain ruining the momentum,” Andrew grumbled as he threw his head back on the couch, closing his eyes and squeezing the bridge of his nose, a habit he picked up from Rick Grimes. “I’ll be rereading my lines later just in case the rain lets up.”

“Just slack off, man, period,” Norman said incredulously after a sip of chocolate. “You’re gonna fucking nail those scenes. You always do.”

Andrew peered down on the older man on his lap, snorting at the bright blue hue of Twitter reflecting on Norman’s face. “The point of me being here in your trailer is to help me with those scenes. How are we going to accomplish that by slacking off?”

Norman was on Instagram now, purposely not acknowledging his friend’s glower. “Dude, the show wouldn’t last seven seasons if every one of us think we _all_ sucked at scenes. Have a break for once.” He fiddled and opened the front camera of his phone and hyperextended his free arm for a selfie, long enough to include Andrew’s disgruntled face. After the familiar camera click, Norman examined the picture for a millisecond and rolled his eyes.

“Come _ooooon_ , Andy. Stop being such a grump. The fangirls are requesting more Leedus,” he whined, tugging at Andrew’s sleeve. “Maybe I should lick you?”

Andrew held a hand up. “Behave Norman. No licking today. And no snogging too.”

Norman almost pouted, but decided to continue sipping milk and returned his attention to the phone, mindlessly scrolling.

Well this was a first. Andrew never really rejected his advances for the most part, and lets Norman do whatever he wants, be it kissing or licking as he did with other members of the cast, even going as far as declaring man-crushes and shameless groping and flirting in conventions and interviews. Norman himself knows, and is fully aware that he is touchy and clingy – _too_ clingy to a fault, so hearing a rejection from Andrew gave him a rather strange feeling. A feeling that toyed beyond his perception of their so-called publicity bromance, and Norman is not sure what to make of it, of whether or not it is a good or bad feeling.

All Norman knows is, the feelings he has towards his irritatingly handsome British co-star are definitely more than the bounds between manly friendship and platonic talent admiration, and as seasons one to six passed by like a blur, those said feelings just grew and grew, way beyond Norman’s control now.

Andrew sighed, snapping Norman out of his reverie by tapping lightly on his cheek. “Look Norm, I’m sorry if I’m being such a girl. I’m just…out of it today for some odd reason.”

“So I noticed,” Norman angled his head slightly, so that he was looking up at Andrew, in a weird upside down view. “You’ve been out of it for days, really. Is there anything wrong, man? You can always talk to me.”

Andrew then turned and looked down at Norman, straight through his bedroom eyes, and regarding Norman with an unfocused look like he was studying him, making the older man shift uncomfortably. There was a flash of something, disappearing immediately, that came across those baby blues that Norman almost didn’t catch. Almost like he’s wanting to say something but at the same time deciding against it. Now _this_ was really odd, even by modified standards, but Norman could tell something is bothering his friend.

Finally Andrew sighed again and shook his head. “Just…no. Don’t mind me. Just tell me something funny. Something worth the distraction.”

“Funny,” Norman echoed after a while, tapping his chin thoughtfully. Funny, that he can do, as long it is along the lines of dark humor or of sexual nature, as long as it will conveniently remove the effect of his pining towards Andrew. Anything that will smash the weird fluttering in his chest and the mutual awkwardness between them after the question he had presented earlier.

“Do you look at me and think of condoms, Andy?” Norman queries.

Andrew begins to smirk. “The Rickyl and Leedus fangirls again, I assume?”

“Yeah, my friend. Because I shit you not, I have _seventeen_ boxes I have been gifted with. Nine were from complete strangers!”

Andrew’s face turned bright red, either from embarrassment or suppressed laughter. “Perhaps you can start building a castle out of them, yes?"

“Now there’s a thought! A lovely little condom shrine. I’ll do that for my next art show,” Norman’s milk carton almost fell onto him after the force of clapping his hands excitedly, making Andrew snigger more. “Tell me this, would you prefer ‘His and Her Pleasure’ or strawberry flavored as the foundation?”

Andrew finally burst out laughing, and Norman, for reasons still unknown to him, could swear that he is being turned into a pile of mush from Andrew’s dulcet tones. Again he was smashing the fluttering that quickly escalated from weird to mad, and quickly scolded himself, sipping his drink more forcefully than he should. _What. The. Hell. Reedus._

“I happened to have earwigged on you asking that same question to Steven,” Andrew said after calming down. “I think he gave you a dirty look and said—“

“’Extra strength’ sounds like a better foundation,” Norman continued in unison with Andrew, shaking his head afterwards. “Jesus, I swear, these girls are really on to us.”

Andrew shrugged. “We have the best managers and publicists. I’m sure they can manage.”

Norman went back to his phone, opening Tumblr this time and typed the infamous #Rickyl tag, and then in a matter of seconds the screen lit up with dozens of fanarts and at least more than dozens of fanfictions. He could hear Andrew groan above him.

“Awww, they’re not stopping aren’t they?”

“Nope. Don’t think they will as long as both of us are alive in the show.” Norman handed his phone to Andrew, and watched as the Brit slowly deadpanned while scrolling for at least ten minutes, to which Norman would assume he was trying to understand a fanfiction. Technology-illiterate Andrew is just too adorable to look at.

“Mpreg? What the bloody hell is an _mpreg_?”

“It means male pregnancy, man,” Norman explains.

Andrew threw his head back again in the couch, facepalming at the absurdity of it all. “My oh my, has literature evolved. Rick has the highest percentage of this mpreg based from these tags, and that’s just unfair. Why can’t Daryl be the pregnant one?”

Norman almost choked in his milk, so he set it down on the floor beneath them before he could do further damage by spilling it both onto their clothes. “It _is_ disturbingly easy to imagine. Rick, in a maternity dress, complaining about swollen ankles as he downs French toast covered in peas from a can, while Daryl makes breakfast and whistling the Bacon Pancakes song.”

Andrew blinked. “Never heard of that song.”

Norman rolled his eyes, exasperated. “Never mind. Try watching more TV, geez. You’re such a caveman.”

The Brit snorted derisively, looking away. “Screw you, Reedus.”

“Screw...” Norman repeated, letting his voice trail off as he carefully registered Andrew’s words. Something _is_ definitely wrong here.

Norman abruptly sat up and faced Andrew, placing both of his hands on the younger man’s shoulders and shaking him violently, and the latter’s only reaction was a confused look. “Who the hell are _you_ and what did _you_ do to my friend?”

“What—“

“You’re not. Swearing. Properly,” Norman deduces as he stressed out the words, letting go of Andrew and crossed his arms. “Something is wrong with you today. So come on, spill it.”

“Oh dear," Andrew eyes Norman carefully for a moment then squeezed them both shut, then sighed and pinched his nose bridge again. “You’re not going to drop this are you?”

“Nope, sure as hell won’t. If you’ll not talk to me I will tell you this – I’ll go full on Daryl Dixon on you, tear out your femur and fucking beat you over the head with it,” Norman responded. “Go on. Speak.”

“Creative as always,” Andrew chuckled nervously, running a hand through his curls absently. The whole six years that they were together, even Norman could tell as much that his friend was carrying some sort of burden, and the least he can do is help him out somehow, after Andrew became his unofficial shock absorber when things became a little difficult for him. Hell, Norman would do _everything_ for Andrew if he’ll just let him. So he just stared at him, patiently waiting for the Brit to open up.

There was a long awkward silence, until Andrew finishes it with a tense gulp. “It’s about my marital status, Norman.”

Norman blinked. “Uh...”

Andrew cleared his throat, avoiding Norman’s bewildered gaze. “Gael…Gael suggested that I start seeing other people.”

“Oh,” Norman can only say lamely, immediately regretting his pushiness. “I’m sorry man, didn’t know that you were getting a divorce—“

“Oh no no no, not like _that_ ,” Andrew interrupted quickly, placing a hand on Norman’s arm, and the touch sent jolts of electricity in the older man’s spine. Which Andrew didn’t notice, thank God. “We’re not divorcing. We had a long talk over the phone last weekend, and we ultimately decided to divulge ourselves in the world of polyamory.”

Norman blinked again, more rapidly this time, and let out a small whistle in admiration. _Damn Gael,_ he thought to himself, immediately thinking of making a bust for the woman. Andrew got himself quite a catch, he thinks, as most couples are leery when it came to open relationships.

“So, you think it’s a bad idea or…?”

“On the contrary, it’s the best idea we ever had, seeing that we are separated most of the time,” Andrew supplied for him. “Matter of fact, she’s already began dating someone. A small-time actress and bartender. Brunette, very sexy and gorgeous, and rides bikes, too.”

Norman’s eyes widened, making a mental applause in his head. Forget the bust – Gael deserved a fucking monument. “Whoa nelly.”

“I know,” Andrew said, nodding. “Big news, right? Looks like you’ll be getting your chance with me then.”

Norman drew in a sharp intake of breath as his chest pounded, not sure of what to make from Andrew’s statement. The Brit noticed his apprehension immediately, his face turning serious as the hand on his arm dropped freely on Andrew’s lap.

“It’s a joke, Norman.”

“Right,” Norman grunted, a mannerism he picked from Daryl, shifting his position so that he was facing the wall of the trailer in front of him, away from Andrew’s perusal and his cocked eyebrow yet again. He grabbed his milk carton from the floor and sipped plaintively, wanting to die for almost giving himself away. _Shit shit shit shit shit fucking shit._

“Sooooo…” Norman began after a long pause, giving Andrew a sideways glance. “Are you seeing someone now?”

Andrew shook his head. “Christ, no. With filming and all, I hardly have the time. And the fact that I’m a married man for ten years makes me a hopeless case in asking anyone out. I guess…I guess I could say I don’t know how or when to start. But I do want to…”

The Brit’s voice was trailing off again, and when Norman finally faced him, he found the same odd expression on Andrew’s face again, only this time with subdued mirth, regarding him carefully, the sound of the rainstorm outside slowly turning into muted white noise. It was almost like a movie, the scene between the two of them blurring into a warm haze as they looked into each other’s eyes, light blues studying darker blue bedroom ones, both of them finding solace in the quiet ebb and pulse of pleasure. It was almost the same as the ever memorable “You’re my brother” scene, the electricity between them palpable, only different in a sense that they are their own characters now, not Rick Grimes and Daryl Dixon. Norman suddenly found himself having difficulty breathing. Since when exactly did they start trading soul-searching gazes?

“I think…” Andrew finally said after a while, his voice husky. “I think I would like to try that chocolate milk now.”

And that, in itself, became Norman's opening, finally giving in.

Andrew was reaching for the chocolate milk carton but Norman stopped him, a hand gripping on the younger man’s arm. Norman then smirked, rather coyly, and Andrew was taken aback and could only stare at him with a surprised expression.

“Nuh-uh, Clutterbuck. We’ll do this differently.” And in fluid motion, Norman removed the straw and threw it behind him, opened the carton flap, drank the chocolate milk without swallowing, and leaned over to yank a handful of Andrew’s blue button down, pressing his lips against him, and passing him the sweet liquid by mouth.

Norman could imagine Andrew’s eyes flying open in shock as his calloused hand cupped against the younger man’s ever growing stubble, holding him so the milk wouldn’t spill. The move was now rendered useless though, as he could feel cold liquid beginning to dribble between their chins and also into Norman’s black Bowie shirt. Norman finally let go, catching his breath, and Andrew looked back at him with a hurt look in his eyes, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt.

“Jesus fuck, Norm. Please warn me next time. This was my good shirt.”

 _Next time_. The words reverberated through Norman’s ears like a song, and he stopped himself from doing a happy fangirl dance based on the fact that Andrew wanted to do this again and again. Norman crinkled his brows, smirking again, and Andrew flashed him one of those brilliant megawatt grins, a shade of pink slowly creeping onto those usually fair cheeks.

“Nah, I’m spontaneous like that. You’re no good at this though, spilling all over yourself.”

And before Andrew could even respond with a catty remark, Norman drank from the carton again and pushed the chocolate milk towards Andrew’s open mouth. He shifted from the couch so that he was facing Andrew, and Andrew was pulling him over so he can sit on his lap, straddling him, with Norman’s arms going around the Brit’s shoulders, half noticing that he was already grinding Andrew into the couch. A short swishing sound was heard and Andrew finally gulped the milk down that Norman offered with his lips.

“Well? Is it tasty?” Norman asks with a snicker after catching his breath.

Andrew made a disgusted face, close to throwing up. “It’s God awful, and too sweet.”

“I reject that. Get a _good_ taste of it.”

Their position changed, to where Norman was pinning down Andrew on the couch. After giving out a condescending chuckle, Norman drank the remaining milk from his carton and passed it again by mouth to Andrew. Only this time, Andrew didn’t let go after swallowing and proceeded to kiss Norman, his hands running across his biceps and his lean, slender arms snaking all over his back. The older man hummed quietly, dropping the now empty milk carton to nowhere as he deepened the kiss, relaxing the Brit’s tensed muscles, and finally he was in motion, setting a soft pulsing rhythm for their hips as he once more sucked deeply into the kiss, tongue rubbing a moan from Andrew’s mouth with a sinful medley of heat and pressure. The kiss went on and on as the flood of lust hit Norman’s groin like a physical blow before sizzling through his limbs and down to his fingertips in waves of tingling pleasure. This was his first time kissing a man, but reminded himself that this is not just _any_ other man – this was Andrew _fucking_ Lincoln, now a horny twitching mess, at his mercy beneath him. Norman could swear he saw stars behind his closed eyes.

Suddenly Norman’s world tilted, their positions changing quickly again as Andrew’s hands gripped both of his arms and practically shoved him back towards the couch, back to their sitting position. Andrew now pulled back, eyes unfocused and his pupils dilated to full diameter, panting softly as he moved gracefully towards Norman’s lap and straddled him this time, a hand on his chest and the other still gripping Norman’s muscled arm, and Norman realized how hot the other man looked as he moved and how hotter it made him.

“Well?” Norman said again, in small panting breaths. “How does the chocolate milk you hate so much taste when I’m feeding it to you?”

Andrew’s eyes narrowed. “You—“

“What? Did it taste good?” Norman challenged, his grin lopsided. “Could it be that you have come to love it?”

Andrew’s light blue eyes softened slowly as his breathing eased, then he fluttered them shut as he looked down. “Yes. I’ve come to love it.”

Norman felt his grin froze, Andrew’s words sinking in as the warm haze evaporated in an instant. He watched as Andrew opened his eyes again, looking up towards his, and Norman felt himself drowning in the ocean of light blue.

“I’m saying that…I _love_ it,” Andrew said again.

There was a rawness in Andrew’s voice, almost similar to Rick’s southern drawl that made Norman forget that this was all a game. A stupid game to get a rise out of his friend and probably get good sex in the process. Somehow it had twisted in his hands so that they were dissecting the one thing he couldn't control. _End this_  was the final plaintive whisper from the part of his mind that still thought he could retreat. Still though stringing Andrew along emotionally was worth anything at all. It was so tiny and so weak he didn't even bother to crush it. It had been a lost cause since they began kissing, he realized with a sinking feeling.

“What…what’s wrong Andy?” Norman stammered, his voice becoming as low as his redneck alter ego. “Are you on a sugar high that you don’t taste it anymore?”

“Shut up, Reedus,” With a feral growl and a hand close to pinching his cheek, Andrew leaned in dangerously close, millimeters against Norman’s lips, his words down to a throaty whisper. “I’m saying. I. Love. It.”

_Checkmate, Andy._

Norman tipped over his king by leaning forward and capturing Andrew’s mouth, and the warm haze around them returned instantly. The rest became a blur.

 

* * *

 

Norman’s eyelids slowly fluttered open, squinting at the wall clock. 7 A.M., it read. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he could no longer hear the sound of rain and could only hear sounds of birds chirping and numerous insects buzzing around, and there were also muffled sounds and conversations outside coming from the crew that passed by his trailer. Norman contemplated going back to sleep, until he saw an arm draped on his side. Now _that_ woke him up completely.

_Ah. So it really happened._

In all honesty, Norman thought he was just waking up from a particularly blissful dream, but it was fucking reality after all – both he and Andrew were on his bed, nothing but a huge Adventure Time quilt covering them, and his bare back spooned against Andrew’s lean chest, with Andrew’s face nuzzled against his overgrown brown hair and nape, his soft snores becoming a rhythmical thrum against his skin. As unlikely a scene as it was, the two were in a ridiculously domestic embrace, and Norman was concerned that if things got any more picturesque he and Andrew would spontaneously break into a choreographed musical number.

Norman began to reminisce the events of the previous night after the said blur. Andrew was laughing. Norman was growling. The world seemed to tilt on its axis as they tackled each other, tumbling towards the bed. Groans and moans and bites and rubs, all mired in a backdrop haze of gleeful, competitive friction, and both were thankful for the buttload of condoms the fangirls sent to them. There was some sort of exclamation that Norman didn’t really register. Neither knew what they were doing, it was both their first time of course, both in a tangled slew of awkward limbs and angles, but Norman was riding on the instinctive pull of hormones and Andrew was…well, more than willing and obliged than the usual one-night stander. Norman remembered a mouth fixing on the sensitive skin behind his ear and waking up now, suddenly the world became a much clearer, much more beautiful place.

_Holy fuck._

After lightly grazing his fingers on the bruised love bite behind his ear, Norman suddenly had an urge to turn around and take Andrew in his arms, but the feeling immediately fleeted as quickly as it came in. Everything happened way too fast, and it is pretty damn early in their…relationship or whatever _this_ is, to even consider cuddling, and it baffled Norman so much to find Andrew was still there in the morning. A part of himself that he desperately wanted to stab in the eye with one of Daryl’s arrows admitted that it wouldn’t be so bad to wake up in such a manner every morning. The only solace in the situation was Andrew appeared to be similarly affected by their activities the previous night, and appeared to be just as bothered that his… affection…. had only increased for Norman. Thus was born from the earth shattering, mind-blowing sex last night in which they had to acknowledge that maybe this  _wasn’t_  just a onetime thing.

A blush slowly creeped into his features. _I’ve come to love it,_ he remembered Andrew saying.

 _Yeah_. _Chocolate milk._ Norman reminded himself repeatedly. _That was about milk. He was talking about the milk. I know that, so…_

Internal snarking only got so far when the sensation of lips moving softly against his neck sent chills down to his toes and made his heart try to clamber out of his chest. Norman was wrapped up in his own thoughts that he barely noticed Andrew stirring behind him, the arm on his side wrapping around Norman's waist, pulling him closer. Norman shut his eyes and pretended to sleep, and hoped Andrew will fall for it, as he is still not entirely sure how to face the other man after what happened. But Andrew is Andrew, of course, and Norman could feel the Brit’s scrutinizing sleepy gaze from behind.

“Norman, sweetheart,” Andrew whispered behind him, running a gentle hand on Norman’s biceps. “I know that you are awake, love. You are obviously restraining yourself from grabbing and cuddling me to oblivion in those beautiful arms, but being that I find your passive aggression too endearing, I’ll not mock you and let this pass for now.”

Norman’s eyes flew open and his face heated up, and he was now thanking the gods in earnest that he didn’t turn to face him like he wished earlier. He was done in by the low rumble of Andrew’s voice, that gorgeous English accent better than rock music in his ears, melting him like ice cream under the Georgia heat. He covered his face with the quilt in embarrassment, as Andrew chuckled lightly behind him.

“’Kay,” was the only thing Norman said, for lack of a better answer, as he was still love-drunk to the point of incoherence. Andrew then burst into that clear, unabashed laughter. Norman was disgruntled to find the sound still liquidated his muscle. He was kind of hoping that had been an artifact of the goddamned sugar rush. 

“Seems that we still have a couple of hours before call time. I’ll go and find breakfast for the two of us. Just stay put there, love.”

Norman could only snort and nod, but he was internally squealing at the rather endearing term. Andrew chuckled again and placed a loving peck on Norman’s temple, lips brushing against his face, then proceeded to stand up. Norman still didn’t move to face him, gathering up the quilt instead towards his body to cover himself, and suddenly missing the feel of Andrew’s warmth against him. He thought the quilt would make up for it.

“Come back later, all right?” Norman blurted out from under the thick fabric, his back still against Andrew.

“Of course I will.”

Though he was unable to see Andrew’s face, Norman knew the other man was smiling based on the way he answered. In a giddy way, he notices too, and this made Norman smile to himself as well. Any more of this and he will burst singing out a Cheap Trick song. He heard slight rustling of clothes and then footsteps padding towards the fridge. The low hum of the appliance resonated inside the quiet trailer.

“Where the bloody hell did he put all of the stuff that was in here?” he heard Andrew muttering. “Really nothing but chocolate milk.”

Norman heard the fridge door closing, then silence. After a while, he suddenly heard a telltale cutting sound from a pair of scissors against a milk carton, then a sigh. Followed by loud gulping sounds. Norman bit his lip, raising his brows, and knew _exactly_ what Andrew was doing, suppressing the incoming laughter. _Oh no, he didn’t—_

“Motherfu—“

Andrew was sent sputtering towards the sink, retching out what he drunk and throwing the remnants of the cold milk down in the drain, then said in a sad voice: "Too sweet. Awful. _Ugh_.”

An odd “guh” sound came from Norman under the covers, a flush flooding his face as he covered it with shaking hands, in hysterical and restrained fits of laughter as Andrew continued to swear on the other side of the trailer, berating himself for his stupidity. _Christ almighty Andy! I’m dying! Dying! Dying! Dying! I’m going to dieeee!_

Yes, Andrew will definitely be the death of Norman someday as long as _this_ continues, but it shall be a happy death nonetheless.

 

**THE END :D**

**Author's Note:**

> What do you think guys? Food play kink is just, ugh. :| 
> 
> To TWDObsessive : Please kindly consider this as my early Christmas gift. :3
> 
> Please do comment below! :)))


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